Excuse the intrusion.

After reading Mitch Davis’s excerpt from Dead Cities and Other Tales, I have been locked in the clutches of my own imagination. Davis illustrates several post-apocalyptic theories from notable 19th and 20th century works, as well as contemporary scientists’ evaluation of such works’ verisimilitude. Davis retells Jefferies’s prediction of weeds overtaking urbanity in his novel After London. Davis then furthers this argument with support from The New Scientist, where it is predicted that: “herculean alien weeds” such as the shrub Buddleia davidii would crush slabs of concrete and urban infrastructure in search of moisture. 

This idea of weeds taking over, and particularly “alien” ones, links right back to Alice Major’s description of “carragana hedges.” In London, alien weeds may overtake the city; In Edmonton, we are the weeds. We put down roots and suck everything out of the ground to sustain ourselves. We then prolong our hold of the land through multiplication, ever outwards, reforesting the landscape with people. Our blossoms are concrete monoliths, which stand aside their withered counterparts from seasons, or rather decades, past. 

In the cold, sometimes thought to be insufferable winters of Edmonton, we thrive above all else. The weeds don’t wait for spring. We continue on. Meanwhile the conifers stand stoically above us, and the nude hardwoods sleep under their snowy blankets. 

Nature in Edmonton is subdued by us. We profess our infatuation with the river valley, yet we extend our roots throughout with concrete arteries. Nature in Edmonton only exists insofar as we, the weeds, will allow.